I didn’t own a winter coat when I moved from Puerto Rico to Iowa. 

Back home, I never needed anything more than a sweatshirt for when the sun had set, and temperatures dropped to the high 60s. The air was warm year-round, steady and predictable; it was never something that required planning or strategy. Iowa is different. 

In the first two months of the year, I have experienced the coldest temperatures of my life, and a couple of weeks later, enjoyed a nice walk outside in just a T-shirt and jeans.

And before anyone assumes I simply wasn’t prepared for winter, I should clarify: I lived in Colorado. I have seen snow. I understand cold. I know what layers are. What I was not prepared for was the randomness of it all.

In Colorado, winter feels committed. In Puerto Rico, warmth is consistent. In Iowa, the weather feels like a personality trait. One week, it is negative temperatures with wind that makes your face ache. Next, people are walking to class in shorts because it hit 50 degrees, and somehow that feels like spring.

There is something almost theatrical about it. The dramatic warnings. The sudden closures. When the most recent storm had run through, evening plans were being canceled and my housemates and I were outside shoveling snow and building a snowman. It brought back childlike joy for the night — until we remembered we would have to brave the icy conditions in the morning on the way to work or class.

What makes it absurd is not just the cold — it is the unpredictability. You cannot dress confidently. You cannot plan too far ahead. You learn to check the forecast the way you check your email: constantly and with mild anxiety. Iowa weather does not ease you into anything. It commits fully, then changes its mind.

Maybe that is what makes it memorable, a story worth telling home about. Not the snow itself. Not even the wind. But the fact that just when you think you understand it, it shifts again.